


Leave My Wings Behind Me

by pressdbtwnpages



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressdbtwnpages/pseuds/pressdbtwnpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harriet and Peter go undercover as newlyweds in Spain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave My Wings Behind Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [x_los](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/gifts).



> Title from the song "Holiday in Spain" by Counting Crows. Thanks to **chiasmus** for the beta and hand-holding!

The Spanish sun baked down on Harriet’s shoulders as she browsed the mercado.  
.  
She admired the naranjas being sold in one of the mercadillos and noted how tan her skin was getting after nearly six months in Saville. The political climate may have been tense, but the weather was glorious.

After she and Lord Wimsey had solved the Wilvercombe case, Harriet tried to go back to her life as mystery writer, but quickly discovered that she needed a break from crime.

She’d had some royalties left and had gone travelling, but had only made it as far as Seville before her money and energy had run out. She’d found herself a small estudio and posted an advertisement in the local newsletter offering herself as an English tutor.

“Excuse me,” Harriet muttered as she knocked into someone. Her eyes had been on the oranges and her mind in England.

The man turned around.

“Harriet,” he whispered, “I need your help.”

“Excuse me?” She startled. It had been months since anyone had recognized her, and those people had been autograph seekers.

Her eyes widened. She hardly recognized Lord Peter Wimsey in his middle class tourist outfit and beard, but he had clearly noticed her.

“I was actually just going.” The last thing Harriet wanted was to be pulled into another mystery. She just wanted to spend her pesetas on tropical fruit, go back to her nice cool apartment, and siesta until Miguelito’s appointment.

“Harriet, _please_ ,” a note of genuine –if not quite desperation then certainly strong urgency – tinged Peter’s voice.

She may have lost her taste for crime, but it had been awhile since Harriet had had a proper adventure.

With a last lingering glance at the fruit stand and its beautiful tumble of oranges, Harriet sighed.

“It’s a bit thirsty out," Peter said, offering Harriet his arm. “Join me for a bite?”

*

“You want me to _what_?” Harriet dropped her empanada.

“I know it’s a beastly thing to ask you, of all people, and especially me doing the asking since I do want you to marry me for real and true, but it’s just a disguise. Of course we’d be ourselves behind closed doors.”

Harriet rubbed her temples. She’d do it of course. For the lark and because she still owed Lord Wimsey a great many favors in repayment for the favor of her life and the many others he seemed to keep accumulating.

“I suppose I’ll have to move out of my apartment and into a hotel with you?” She observed. “It wouldn’t make sense for honeymooners to live apart.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Peter agreed. “I’ve booked us a room near the Jardines de Murillo .”

“Of course you have. Your confidence is…” Harriet pondered the correct word to encompass just how irritating Lord Wimsey was.

“Justified? Well-placed? Accurate?”

“Aggravating.”

Peter preened.

“And who are we to the public? Certainly not Lord Peter Wimsey and wife.”

“Of course not! We’re John and Jane Peabody, just your average British citizens touring their way through a civil war zone.”

“Honestly, Pet- _John_. The atmosphere in Spain isn’t as bad as all that.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “That’s what you think, _Jane_.”

“Oh. Oh really? Is that what you’re doing here, then? Starting a war?” Harriet had known abstractly that Lord Wimsey had been involved with spycraft during the war, but she hadn’t realized he’d kept at it.

Peter waved a hand. “Just information gathering with a beautiful woman by my side to prevent anyone looking too closely at my bona fides.”

Harriet wondered if that really was all Peter was up to.

*  
Upon returning to her apartment, Harriet quickly packed. She hadn’t accumulated much beyond a few knickknacks and the studio had come furnished, so it was easy to pack her things into two suitcases, leave a note for her landlord, and disappear.

She met Peter outside of the Hostal Florida two hours after they had parted, luggage banging against her legs.

“There you are, Mrs. Peabody,” Peter said, rousing himself from the wall he had been slouched against. “Ready to check in?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

*

Peter – no, John and Jane Peabody’s – room was exactly the sort of small, bland, hotel room tourists on a budget would pick, down to the single bed and miniscule bathroom.

"It's so _small_ ," Peter - presumably as John Peabody, but possibly also as himself - complained.

“Now don’t be a snob, darling,” Harriet said. “When in Seville and all that.”

Peter laughed falsely, the jolly hollow sound of a man in an awkward foreign situation, and tipped the bellman a few pesetas.

“It’s cozy,” Harriet remarked, which was putting it mildly.

There wasn’t even the floor space for one of them to sleep without the other tripping over them in the night. They’d have to share the bed and Harriet hadn’t shared hers since Phillip.

“It’s incognito.”

“No one will suspect a thing,” Harriet said confidently. “You’d have to be in love to want to share quarters this small."

*

There was no way to properly unpack in their miniscule hotel room, so instead Harriet and Peter as Jane and John Peabody went exploring.

“Is there really any information to gather in the Alcazar?” Harriet wondered aloud as she and Peter made their way through the medieval Islamic palace.

“There’s plenty. For example, I am gathering information on Moorish arches,” Peter waved his guidebook at Harriet.

She slapped at him with her own. “That isn’t at all what I meant.”

“Sometimes a tourist attraction is just a tourist attraction, _Jane_.”

But Harriet couldn’t quite believe that.

*

In the small dark taberna Peter had chosen for dinner, Harriet took a sip of the rich, smoky, red wine Spain is famed for, and fretted.

"The lady will have the, er, Caldo de Pucharo," Peter as John Peabody ordered with a terrible accent, "and I want your chop."

Peter wasn't a bad sort, and that was half the problem. He didn't mean Harriet to be indebted to him, which of course sank her even deeper into a debt that she could never begin to make a dent in, despite the foolish little favors he invented for her to do for him.

And then of course there were the marriage proposals. The genuine - or, at least, more genuine than today's - ones. Harriet still didn't believe Peter saw her as more than a novelty, another mystery to solve. He was persistent, though. Harriet had to give him that.

"You're deep in thought," Peter observed. "And looking far more serious than a newlywed ought."

"Oh. I… I'm tired, John. It's been such an exciting day and the Spanish eat so late!" Harriet tried to answer as Jane Peabody and hoped Peter could detect the lie. She didn't like tiptoeing around problems, but she and Peter had a cover to maintain.

"Poor bug. Eat your supper and we'll go back to our room." Peter as John hesitated. "I hope you won't be _too_ tired when we get back."

In character or not, it was a disgusting thing to say and Harriet hated Peter for it. At least he looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, sweetums. It's just that you're so beautiful and I-"

"John! Stop!" Harriet-as-Jane exclaimed. "You're embarrassing me!"

It was sort of fun pretending to be someone else. Kind of like writing, in a way. Jane, Harriet decided, was a naive, gentle woman. Probably some kind of teacher. She'd been a virgin up to her wedding night a few days earlier. No wonder talk of sex made her uncomfortable. 

"Forgive me, pudding?"

Harriet-as-Jane feigned a sigh. "I suppose so."

The food arrived then, and conversation ceased in favor of tucking into their suppers.

After the last bite of pork had been eaten and bread had mopped up any lingering traces of stew, Peter sat back with a satisfied sigh.

"What do you say, Janie? Do you have room for a brandy?"

Supper had calmed Harriet's nerves. Peter was a loyal friend and trustworthy. Whatever happened tonight - awkward though it may be - Harriet knew she had nothing to fear.

Harriet raised her eyebrows at Peter and teased, "Are you trying to postpone taking me home?"

If one wasn't looking closely, they mightn't have noticed the tips of Peter's ears turning pink. Harriet, however, was looking closely.

"Just wanted to try some of this famous Andalusian brandy. See if it's any good."

God. If Harriet didn't know any better she'd think this blowhard persona was the real Peter Wimsey. As it was, she didn't like John Peabody one bit. Though, Jane loved him, Harriet reminded herself.

"Another night, darling. Let's go back to our room and rest. I've got _lots_ planned for us tomorrow."

"But, muffin, it's supposed to be a vacation!" Peter grumbled. He waved the approaching waiter over.

"Are senor and senora ready for dessert? Or perhaps a digestif?"

"Just the bill, garcon." Harriet winced at the use of the French word. John Peabody was such a boar.

"As senor likes."

*  
Seville was lovely at night. The orange trees that lined the streets still held the last of their blossoms and the rich scent of neroli wafted through the warm air.

Arm in arm with Peter Wimsey in the peaceful dark, it was easy for Harriet to imagine what might have been, if only they had met some other way. Investigating a case, perhaps. They might have bumped into each other at a crime scene, or an inquest. He could have wooed her. She could have let herself be wooed.

"You're looking pensive," Peter observed as they strolled along the canal, taking the long way back to their room.

"It's a thoughtful sort of city," Harriet agreed vaguely.

"Is that why you've settled here?"

The question threw Harriet. "I'm not sure that I have settled. England is still home, I'm planning on going home. I just haven't, yet."

"You have an apartment here."

Technically, Harriet does not. She gave it up this afternoon to go have an adventure with Peter, but he doesn't need to know that just now.

"It was a practicality. Hotel costs add up. But, yes," Harriet agreed, "I do like Seville. Very much. It reminds me of Oxford, in a way. It's a learned city. All those years of learning seem seeped into its very stones."

"Hmm," Peter responded and Harriet got the impression that he disagreed with her and was biting his tongue.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," she said gently. "Once you and I are done being undercover, I'll go back to London."

Peter turned to her abruptly, "You will?"

"Of course. It is home after all, and my year's travel is almost up. I do have responsibilities."

Harriet found herself rather irked at Peter's assumption that she could just go on flitting across the globe indefinitely. Unlike some people - _Lord Wimsey_ \- she had a job and obligations.

"That's good to know."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you've been missed, is all," Peter said awkwardly. "It will be good having you back in town."

As their hotel came into view, Harriet felt the looming awkwardness of sharing a bedroom with a man she barely considered a friend.

"Do you want to go up first?" Peter offered as they stepped into the lobby. "Get yourself, er, ready, in private?"

That made sense for a newlywed couple, Harriet thought. The bride going on ahead to put on a neglige while her groom had a drink in the hotel bar. 

"Yes, dear. Why don't you have that brandy you wanted in the hotel bar while I go get changed?"

"Alright then," Peter agreed and ambled off towards the three card tables and half a dozen chairs in the far corner of the lobby that served as the hotel's restaurant and bar.

Harriet hurried up to their room. Peter would give her as much time as he could, but Harriet wasn't sure how long someone could reasonably linger over a brandy. 

Upon unlocking their hotel room, she hurried directly into the bathroom.

It was tinier than Harriet remembered, but she could make due, showering efficiently, brushing her teeth and hair, and changing into her night dress just before the knock on the door indicated that Peter was back.

She opened the door for him and then slipped into bed. "Which side do you like?"

Peter was looking intently at his shoes. "Either is fine."

Harriet slid across the bed to her prefered left side. "I think I'll read for awhile, if you'd like to shower and change."

"I think I will," Peter agreed and picked up his bathing kit and a set of plaid pyjamas. 

Harriet picked up the novel she was reading. 

After several paragraphs she heard swearing come from the bathroom. Peter must have discovered the odd elbow-height ledge by the bathroom sink, in precisely the right spot to whack against while brushing ones teeth.

A page later the water turned on, followed by more cursing. The shower had been a tight enough fit for Harriet, and Peter was quite a bit taller.

The cursing continued even after the shower turned off, and lasted until Peter stepped out of the bathroom towelling his hair.

"Beastly bathroom," he grumbled.

"It is a bit close," Harriet agreed, putting down her book and shutting off the bedside light. The sooner she slept, the sooner this awkwardness would be over and they could flee this postage stamp sized space.

Peter looked at the bed and the floor consideringly. "Maybe I can sleep on the floor?"

"Don't be silly. There's no room." Harriet turned onto her side and closed her eyes. "Come lie down."

She felt the bed dip as Peter sat, and the shift as he stretched out. She heard the click of the other bedside light, and then was asleep.

*

Harriet slept restlessly, waking with every shift of her body to make sure she wasn't taking over Peter's space and to reclaim her own if Peter happened to encroach on it.

*

She woke to a jolt and a loud thump. 

Harriet stretched out and tried to poke at Peter, who wasn't there.

"Peter?" She called out into the darkness.

"Urgh," came a response from the floor.

"Peter? What on earth are you doing down there?"

"Ifelloutofbed," He mumbled something Harriet couldn't quite make out.

"What was that?"

"I fell out of bed."

Harriet tried to smother her giggle, but she was pretty sure Peter had heard. 

"Well you can't stay down there. Come on, up!"

*

The rest of the night passed smoothly and Harriet was surprised to awaken again to a room full of golden light, birds singing in the trees outside.

Peter was up, fully dressed, and sitting on the edge of the bed poking at a bruise on his forearm.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted Harriet when he noticed she was awake. "I thought we might see Seville Cathedral and Giralda Tower this morning. Have you been?"

Harriet blinked at him.

"Not a morning person, are you?" Peter chattered. "Well get dressed and we can go have a bite downstairs before we set off."

Harriet got out of bed silently, gathered her things, and went into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Harriet wasn't the best at small talk any time of day, and though she'd never thought of herself that way, maybe she wasn't a morning person.

She'd feel more alert after a Cafe con Leche and some toast.

*

"Remember," Peter said as they prepared to leave their hotel room, "we're John and Jane Peabody. John's kind of a boar and Jane's somewhat of a shrinking violet."

"Oh, bother," Harriet responded. Things were difficult enough without pretending to be someone else on top of it. "Give me the guidebooks, then. John Peabody would never waste his time on a guidebook."

Peter chuckled but handed the guidebooks over without hesitation. So much for Harriet's fledgling theory that the guidebooks contained - or better yet, were themselves - secret documents.

*  
After a simple breakfast and a promise that they would be back in time for the hotel's elaborate La Comida lunch service, Harriet and Peter as Jane and John Peabody took to the streets of Seville.

"Beastly hot," Peter grumbled, though it was just after 9 a.m. and a cool breeze was rippling through the trees.

"Well, we are in Spain, dear. We could have honeymooned in Scotland," Harriet said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

"Scotland," Peter made a disgusted sound. "That's not a place to honeymoon."

"So lets enjoy Spain! We'll tour Seville Cathedral and then have a traditional Spanish lunch and siesta. Have you thought about what you'd like to do this afternoon?"

Harriet assumed Peter needed to be at specific locations at specific times and was trying to let him do that even though she had the guidebooks.

Peter-as-John shrugged. "Doesn't matter much to me. Whatever you want, snookums."

Harriet tried not to shudder at the pet name. And there went another theory, dashed.

"Why do we have to walk all the way back to where we were yesterday?" John continued to complain. "Why couldn't we just dash through the church on our way to the palace?"

"You don't just dash through a cathedral, John," Harriet said patiently. "Besides, Columbus is buried there. That deserves our respect."

"My little smartypants," Peter squeezed Harriet's shoulders.

She turned and gazed at him, faux adoration in her eyes.

Peter - probably genuinely as Peter, or so Harriet wanted to believe - chuckled. "Well, lets get on with it, then."

"Seville Cathedral - once the largest in the world - took over a hundred years to build and features a bell tower adapted from an ancient minaret from the mosque that used to stand on this site," Harriet read from the guidebook.

John yawned.

"Yes, alright, dear, I'll skip past the fifteen famous doors and eighty chapels and see if there's anything gory to tell you about," Jane responded.

"Good girl."

Despite John being an uncultured oaf, Harriet and Peter had fun exploring the huge Renaissance cathedral.

They skipped having a midmorning tapas snack in favor of indulging in the expansive traditional Spanish lunch served at their hotel and by the time they were hurrying back to it at noon, they were starving. 

"What's in a traditional Spanish lunch?" Peter as John asked, a note of desperation in his voice.

Harriet flipped through the guidebook but answered from her own experiences. "About five courses of soup, seafood or meat, vegetables, dessert, and coffee and liquors."

"I don't like seafood or vegetables."

"I know, darling, but there will be plenty for you to eat." Harriet had no idea how prophetic her words were.

Jane and John were seated at the rickety card tables that served as the hotel restaurant with a handful of other tourists.

They were first presented with icy bowls of gazpacho served with bread; followed by platters of fried and grilled squids, cuttlefish, and swordfish; then platters of roasted pork, ham, and chorizo; the next course was of fresh salad; followed by a dessert of Tortas de Aciete - sweet Spanish flatbreads flavored with almonds and anise - and coffee with local liquors.

The meal took nearly two hours to eat, and, without saying a word to one another, once it was over Harriet and Peter went directly upstairs to their room and fell asleep in their clothes without bothering to even get under the sheets.

Harriet woke groggily a few hours later to discover that in his sleep, Peter had wrapped his arm around her waist.

She tensed at the discovery and then relaxed. It was only Peter, after all. He was harmless and it was an innocent mistake. They had both been so full and exhausted.

She carefully wiggled out of the embrace and went to the bathroom to splash some cool water on her face.

By the time she had returned, Peter was awake.

"What shall we do with the rest of our day?" he asked. 

"I'm too exhausted to even think of exploring another building," Harriet admitted. "But what about a river cruise?"

Peter stretched dramatically. "That could be fun."

*

Out of deference to their still-full bellies, Harriet and Peter as Jane and John took a taxi to the river departure point and paid their pesetas for seats on the tour boat.

"You don't get seasick, do you?" Harriet asked as she took her seat.

"Let's hope not," Peter patted his stomach.

The river cruise took Harriet and Peter up the river past the cathedral and Torre del Oro, up to the La Maestranza bullring, and along the Calle Bettis, finally dropping them off near central Seville.

In Plaza Nueva, vendors hawked chorizo sandwiches. 

"I don't think I'll ever be hungry again," Peter as John complained. "Why do they have to eat so much?"

"It's just the Spanish culture," Harriet said. "Supper will be lighter. A nice tortilla maybe."

A bulky gentleman bumped into Peter and Harriet wondered if somehow she had just witnessed spycraft being enacted. But how had he known to meet Peter there? 

"A what?"

"It's a kind of omelette," Jane Harriett said patiently.

"Omelettes aren't for supper."

"Oh, John, live a little!"

*

After a simple supper that did indeed involve omelette, Jane and John hurried up to bed to the knowing glances of the hotel staff.

Once safely inside, Harriet gave a sigh of relief. "It's exhausting being someone else!"

"Isn't it?" Peter agreed. "And John Peabody is so unpleasant."

"He really is. Why on earth did you choose to behave like that?" Harriet asked.

"The more obnoxious you are, the less other people want to spend time around you," Peter said knowingly.

That did make sense. But Harriet still couldn’t see that Peter was accomplishing all that much in the way of intelligence work.

Sure a few people had bumped into them as they’d explored Seville, but it didn’t seem like Peter had been passed papers.

And Harriet would have known if he’d been reading them. There was no way to keep secrets from each other in their tiny room.

So it was a surprise when Peter woke her just after dawn the next morning and told her “It’s time to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Harriet asked foggily.

“Home. Back to England. The action is heating up here and we’re to go home.” Peter explained, settling himself at the edge of the bed.

Harriet blinked at him. “You’re coming too?”

“For the time being,” Peter confirmed. “There are rumors of a planned coup and Great Britain wants its subjects out of Spain before that happens.”

“So you have been doing more than seeing the sights and possible passing papers!” Harriet exclaimed triumphantly. “But how?”

Peter merely smiled in the cool light of dawn. He was insufferable.


End file.
